


With a Storm Like This

by lesbianophelia



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post War, Victor!Peeta, alternate MJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After it's clear that living in District Four with her mother won't work, Katniss Everdeen returns home to District Twelve. But she doesn't expect Peeta Mellark, Twelve's most recent Victor to take her in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Storm Like This

Her mother was right.   
  
Of course her mother was right. But she didn’t listen. She didn’t  _want_  to believe her. Now that she’s really thinking about it, she genuinely can’t remember what it was that she expected _could_ have happened in Twelve while she was gone. District Four was only just getting back into a routine before she left, and they didn’t have to start from scratch.   


Scratch. That’s probably the best way to describe what was waiting for her here. Flat, empty, burnt _scratch_. All too similar to what it looked like when Gale had to practically drag everyone away. The Town was particularly bad, but Katniss actually managed to hold it together.    
  
Until she reached the Seam. And then the nothingness became far too much to bear. That was when the noises started. These awful, choking, sobbing noises that ripped their way out of her throat. It was survival instinct, really, that sent her feet hurrying back to the only part of the District that was spared. And it was because of the thunder that she sat down under a tree. She still had a little bit of time before the storm came in. And besides, if the smoke coming from the chimney was to be believed, all of the houses in the Victor’s Village were inhabited. This was the best she was going to get, as far as shelter goes.

  
“Bread delivery!” she heard someone call. Some blond haired, broad shoulder boy was making his way down the row of houses. He didn’t go in. When he got to the ones that were a little bit closer, she could hear him making small talk with whoever it was inside She couldn’t imagine how anyone has recovered enough to make small talk, but there he was. Reminding her so much of a Mellark boy, making his way closer and closer to her.   
  
She realized that she was going to have to move if she wanted to remain unseen just a few moments too late. But the rain was starting to fall, and she wasn’t willing to give up the little shelter that she had. So instead, she just buried her face in her forearm and tried to will herself to disappear.    
  
It didn’t work, of course. “ _Katniss_?” a voice called, incredulous. She didn’t know who it could possibly be. Who could talk to her with this level of familiarity?   
  
It _was_ a Mellark. The  _famous_ Mellark, at that. Crouched down in front of her, last loaf of bread still in his arms. “Katniss?” he asked again. “Are you okay?”   
  
She took a shuddering breath. Looked up at him. Then she started sobbing again. And Peeta didn’t even really have to think about it before he tugged his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then he set the loaf in her lap so that he could secure the first button around her throat, keeping it there. The warmth radiated from both the jacket and the paper-wrapped loaf of bread.   
  
“Let’s get you out of the rain,” he suggested, and reached a hand down to help her stand up. And it took a moment for her to realize that she shouldn’t have let him. Or let him lead her to his house with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She tried to give the bread back, but he shook his head. She didn’t mind, exactly.

 

When they reached his house and he turned the key in the lock, all of the reasons she should have said no come rushing back to her. The fact remained that she didn’t know him. No matter how familiar he may have seemed, this was the first time they had ever spoken.   
  
His house looked even bigger on the inside. Or maybe  _bigger_ wasn’t the right word. It looked emptier than she would have imagined it to. Like it hadn’t really been lived in. Maybe it hadn’t. She followed him through the entryway and into the sitting room, where he instantly crouched in front of the fireplace to start building a fire.   
  
“Did you just get in?” he asked, and she nodded when he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I figured. I’ve been making deliveries lately, and I haven’t seen you around. Or heard that you came back. Where will you be staying?”   
  
She was reminded again of what a horrible idea this was, coming back, when she was forced to shrug in reply. He frowned at her, lines creasing his face.   
  
“Well, that’s no good.”   
   
It was an understatement. A  massive one. But she nodded her agreement. This _was_ no good.   
  
“You can stay here, at least for tonight,” he offered. “They’ve been assigning the vacancies out. They’ve got  a sign up sheet down at the first house. It’s all very . . . regimented. But it works, I guess. I think they do a family to a room or something like that. I’m just amazed at how many people are coming back.”    
  
Peeta cleared his throat a couple of times, like he was going to say something. He didn’t, though. Not for a long moment.   
  
“Then, of course, there’s this place. It’s massive – I mean, obviously it’s massive. You can see that. It’s just, it’s weird that it’s just me. It shouldn’t be. It’s only ever really just been me. But . . . well . . .” He sighed, seeming more than a little exasperated. “That was awful. I mean,  _I_ don’t even know how I thought that sentence was supposed to end. I just sort of . . . kept going,” he says, sort of chuckling.  
  
It sounded like District Thirteen, if you asked her. She didn’t like the thought of Twelve being anything like it was in Thirteen. Did Peeta hate it as much as she did? It didn’t seem like it, exactly. Not when she saw him striding down the hallways or giving speeches to stir the citizens into war.   
But she saw him one night, walking down the corridor with just Haymitch Abernathy and another man that she vaguely recognized as a gamemaker. Saw the way his shoulders hunched forward. The way his hands twitched at his side. Heard him snap at his mentor, voice more a growl than anything when he asked “ _Does it matter what I want?”_  
  
“So,” he continued. “Normally, Sae would come by – do you know Sae? She used to have a table at the Hob. Anyway, she’s been coming over to make breakfast and dinner, but she can’t when a storm like this hits, she can’t. And it’s not like I  _need_ my meals cooked for me. I mean, I can do that plenty. But she offered, and, well, things being the way they are, you can’t blame her for wanting to keep tabs on familiar faces.”    
  
  
She watched him, trying to reconcile this Peeta with the one she’s seen on the screen in District Four tons of times. She had never seen him – even late that night from the slats of the closet she locked herself in during her sister’s shift at the hospital – at a loss for words before.

It didn’t take much longer for him to get a good fire going. Then just as quickly, he stood up and headed off towards what she assumed was the kitchen. Was he not planning on warming up by the fire? Would it be rude to stay there alone? She figured that it would be and followed him, regretting the loss of warmth instantly. She was still carrying his bread, though, and he’d want it sooner or later.   
  
“Thanks!” he said when she passed it over. “It was supposed to be for Haymitch, but I keep him pretty well stocked – we don’t have to feel guilty about eating it tonight. You can have a seat, if you want to.”   
  
She sat at the far end of his table and watched while he worked on putting something together. Some sort of soup, most likely, it seemed to come mainly from the leftovers that were in his icebox. The thunder was rumbling more insistently now. She didn’t like it, exactly, but she was relieved that he had her come inside.   
  
Especially when, after a particularly loud clap, the room was plunged into darkness. She jumped, and Peeta sucked in a deep breath.    
  
“Okay. Um, okay,” he stammered, and she heard him looking around for something. Opening and closing drawers. “I’ve got to have a flashlight around here, somewhere. Maybe . . . okay. Here it is.”   
  
A beam of light came shooting straight up when he found the button, and she caught a glimpse of his face that maybe she wasn’t supposed to see. Lips set in a hard line, jaw clenched, his whole face looked white as a sheet, though the flashlight probably wasn’t the best thing to see clearly with.   
  
“Good thing the soup already got warm,” he said, and then explained that the oven ran on gas instead of electricity, so they were fine. She held the flashlight for him while he dished the soup out into bowls, and then he surprised her by bringing them out to the sitting room instead of to the table, so that they could eat by the fire.  
  
She wondered, listening to the thunder, if he was thinking of his second arena, too. Of the lightning tree and the blood rain.    
  
“We’ll get you set up with a room when we’re finished eating,” he announced. “I don’t think it’s the best idea, exactly, for you to head down and try to get a house tonight.”   
  
She gave him something that she hoped passed for a smile.   
  
He offered her more soup, and even though it was good, she wouldn’t take it. How much was he going to want if he opened his house up for her? If he gave her any more of his food? If the video Finnick Odair released was to be believed, the way that Victors operated when the Capitol was running things is much different than anything she’d be willing to trade with. Besides, even if Peeta wanted them, she had no  _secrets_. And that’s not even to mention her complete lack of money.   
  
  
“Well, I’d see if you wanted to stay up and talk a while, but . . . ” he trailed off. “I’ll, ah, I’ll show you upstairs. Okay?”   
  
She nodded. He offered her his hand when they reached the stairs, and even though she regretted it instantly, she took it. It would be much better, she thought, to keep hold of him then to just stumble blindly through his house.   
  
“Take your pick,” he said when they reached the landing, shining his light down the row of rooms. “I’m down at the end, but like I said, it’s always been just me here. So to the best of my knowledge, none of these other rooms have even been used before.”   
  
She walked forward and pushed the door to the first room open. Mostly just because she was ready to be alone.   
  
“Nice choice,” Peeta said. “This one shares a bathroom with the one beside it. Of course, it’s all yours, but it’s through that door. Do you need any help getting anything unpacked?”   
  
She shook her head.   
  
“Well, uh, I guess this would be goodnight, then,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll talk more then.”   
  
She brushed her teeth twice that night, just to have something to do, because the bed was far too big to even think about getting into right away. It took a long time for sleep to come that night. She couldn’t help but to think that she would fit in the bed better if she had Prim to help her fill it up.

What was she doing here? Why did she think this was a good idea for even a moment?   
  
  
-  
  
It took two days for the lights to come back on. In those two days, she learned that it was particularly good timing that she got in the day that she did, because she didn’t see much of him afterward. He warned her beforehand. Said over breakfast that he spent a lot time in his room but that she was welcome to come up with him if she wanted to.   
  
She didn’t. But he did bring her breakfast and lunch to her room. And she was grateful that he didn’t try particularly hard to goad her into conversation.   
  
-  
  
“You know that you have free reign of the house, right?” he asked on the third day. “I hope you don’t feel like I expect you to stay cooped up in here all day.”   
  
She snuck out of the room when she thought that he would be in his room, but stopped in her tracks when she saw the cat in the hallway. Yellow and hideous. He hissed at her.   
  
“Hey!” Peeta said from the room. “What are you hissing at?”   
  
She stood, frozen, and Peeta came out and chided the cat – chided  _Buttercup ­_ – when he leaned down to pick him up. “Be nice. Katniss is our friend,” he said. And then it was quiet. “Sorry. I forgot to mention him,” he said. “He’s not even really mine. But he was here when I got back, and I didn’t have the heart to kick him out. I mean, who knows how long he’s been here?”    
  
She shrugged. It was getting harder and harder to fight back the tears. She headed back for the room as soon as his eyes left hers.   
  
-   
  
That night, her nightmares woke her up screaming. She blamed Buttercup.   
  
Peeta was in her room so quickly that she felt guilty. Like he thought that something was actually wrong. But she was crying again, those heaving sobs, and he just smoothed her hair away from her face.   
  
“Dreams?” he whispered. She nodded, and he gathered her into his arms instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed. She barely even remembered to feel bad about getting his shirt wet, he was so patient about it.   
  
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”   
  
-   
  
If the sleep she made him miss bothered him, he certainly didn’t show it. He was as chipper as ever the next morning.   
  
-   
  
Spurred on by that, she risked another trip out of the room after breakfast. Peeta was in his study downstairs, on some sort of a phone call. She tried not to listen and put lunch together, instead.

  
When he came out, he smiled at her so widely that she thought his face might split in two. “You didn’t tell me you could cook!” he said as he took the lid off of the pot. “This smells incredible, Katniss.”   
   
She gave him a modest little smile. He continued gushing about it, though. Talking about it all through the meal. It was the first time that they had lunch together, and he seemed like he was desperate to make sure she knew that he was enjoying it.   
  
-   
  
She kept cooking after that, but she was exhausted after that lunch, so she just brought it to his room instead.   


-  
  
“An  _avox_?” Peeta’s voice floated down the hallway. She wondered why he never closes any doors, and tried to keep her grip on the plate she had been trying to bring him. “No. Absolutely not.”   
  
She relaxed a little bit. She had only heard a little bit about the voiceless servants in the Capitol. Just based on the propos that were released during the war. And it would make sense that Peeta wouldn’t want one. But why was it being brought up then? Had she not been helping around the house enough? If he wanted her to do more, he would have just had to ask her, and she would have done it. It wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate him letting her stay here. Like she wouldn’t do what he wanted her to in order to stay.   
  
“Emotionally? No. No. I don’t know. I’m . . . yeah. I guess,” he continued. Who was he talking to? She stepped a little bit closer to the door that leads to his study. Peeked in to see him sitting in a high backed chair, facing away from her, spinning a little bit, side to side, side to side. “Okay. Well, I’ll ask. I’ll let you know.” He laughed “No. I doubt that would help.”   
  
She knocked on the door frame once the phone was hung up. He spun around in the chair, a little, nervous smile on his face. “Hey, Katniss! What’s going on?”   
  
She stepped in, set the plate down in front of him, and went to head back out, but he stopped her.   
  
“You can eat in here with me, if you want. Or I’ll eat down in the dining room, if you wouldn’t mind.”   
  
She considered this for a moment and then shrugged. She could hear his clumsy footsteps as he followed her down the stairs, and she wasn’t exactly disappointed.   


-  
  
 “Delly Cartwright – have you ever met Delly?” he asked. She shook her head. “I didn’t think so. She wrote a letter. Said she’ll be coming back soon. She stayed in the Capitol for a while. Mostly so her brother could finish up high school, I think. I’m not sure.”   
  
High school. Prim never finished high school. She looked down at the table, trying to push these thoughts away, and then glanced back up at Peeta and gave him what she hoped could pass for a reassuring smile.   
  
“But, yeah, we should have company relatively soon. I’m not sure when, exactly, but within the next couple of weeks . . . is that okay with you?”   
  
Was he actually asking? She nodded, because it really shouldn’t have made too much of a difference to her. She hadn’t taken this long to eat lunch since she’s been here. Usually she stood at the counter, are it as quickly as she could, and then closed herself in her room again.   


“Cool. She’ll like you. And I  _think_ you’ll like her. At least, she was my best friend in school.” Peeta hesitated, his eyes taking on this clouded quality, like he was remembering something he didn’t want to think about. “First visitor I had in Thirteen, actually,” he added. “I feel bad for her. They made her break the news.”   
  
The news. About his family, she assumed, based on the way his jaw was set. None of the Mellarks made it out of District Twelve alive. The town was bombed, first. The only reason Peeta made it was probably because he was in the arena for the Quarter Quell. This is uncharted territory, them talking about the war – or anything of actual substance.   
  
“Um, well, now that I’ve completely killed the mood,” he joked and pushed his chair back. He gathered both of their bowls and brought them to the sink. “I’ll be upstairs,” he informed her, as if she might have not known where he was going. “So, if you need me or . . . I don’t know. Just don’t feel like locking yourself away in your room, you know where to find me.”   
  
She nodded. She intended to let him go, but when he walked past, she reached out and took his wrist in her hand, effectively stopping him. His eyebrows drew together, and she just moved her hand down to give his a small squeeze. She knew what it was like to lose her family, too.   
  
-   
  
That made it at least slightly less strange when he came to comfort her that night, at least for a moment. Until she wound her arms around his neck, pulling herself a little bit closer than she had ever been before, and he had started to play with her hair.   
  
And she had somehow wanted  _more_. Wanted him to not stop touching her.   
  
So she pulled away and laid back down.   
  
-   
  
“I’m making progress on the memory book,” he informed her at dinner the next night, as if she should have known what  _the memory book_ was. “I mean, it’s nowhere near done, yet. But who knows if it ever will be, right?”   
  
She shrugged, because she knew that he was kidding – or at least attempting to – but she didn’t understand the joke, exactly. They worked on the dishes in silence, as always. It suited her much better than his feeble attempts at conversation did. She wished he would realize that he wasn’t getting anywhere with her and give up. What did he want from her, anyway?   
Because she was sure he wasn’t going to find it.   
  
She thought of Gale. thought of how silent they could be in the woods, together. Wondered if she should have headed for District Two, instead. But then . . . she knew Gale’s position, Gale’s involvement with the weapon design, she thought that would probably lead to something that she wouldn’t want to know about. She had her suspicions, anyway. Most of them having to do with the way he disappeared not long after the war.   
  
Peeta, somehow, managed to figure out that something was wrong. He gently pried the plate out of her hands. “Hey,” he murmured. “You need a break?”   
  
She did. It was all over when the first sob ripped its way free, because then Peeta was scooping her up into his arms like she weighed nothing – maybe she did – and bringing her to the couch in the living room. It was the first time they had been this close in the daylight.   
  
“Stay there,” he commanded once she was safely on the cushions, a finger pointed in her direction but not really threatening. More like what you would do to a small child to make sure they wouldn’t get into trouble. He came back first with a thick blanket, and even though her shoulders were still shaking, he wound it around her, easing her back to lie against the armrest and tucking it against her legs.   
  
He fussed over her a little bit more, like he wasn’t really not sure how to handle this. He moved her braid out of the way and wiped some of her tears dry with the sleeve of his shirt. She tried to force herself to be silent. To at least keep it together until he let her go to her room and fall apart there. In privacy.   
  
He didn’t. He stayed by her side until the terrible noises stopped and then told her to stay again before he slipped into the kitchen. He came back with two mugs, one for her and one for him, and sat down on the floor in front of her. It was hot chocolate. He had made it once or twice before.   
  
“Better?” he asked once she had a couple of sips. It felt good on her throat. She nodded. “I thought you were dead, you know.”   
  
He said it so casually. Like this was normal conversation.   
  
“Based on what they told me when I was . . . yeah. I did. So imagine my surprise, a year and a half after the war, when I see you outside my house.”   
  
She swallowed hard.   
  
“You’re not much of a talker, are you, Katniss?” he asks. As if he just noticed this. Dumbfounded, she shook her head. “Starting to see that. But I didn’t ever see you in Thirteen. So . . . I guess . . .”   
  
She saw him.   
  
“Sorry,” he said. “You probably really didn’t need to hear all of that. But the point I’m trying to make, here, is that . . . well, I’m glad you’re here, Katniss. And I’m glad you’re fighting.”   
  
 _Fighting_. It was a funny way to describe whatever this was. It didn’t feel like fighting. It felt like drowning. She nodded at him anyway, though. Pretended like that was accurate because it sounded a lot braver than what she was working on. He kept talking after that. Saying things that even she knew didn’t mean anything. About baking and the loaves he was planning on making in the morning. And when her eyelids got heavy, he took the mug from her hand and set it on the little side table.   
  
She woke up when he was halfway to her room. No doubt planning on taking her to her bed. She was exhausted, and he looked down at her when she shifted, and his eyes were so blue, and she could feel his breath on her skin, and she wasn’t even herself, not really – she couldn’t possibly be – when she stretched up and closed the distance between them.   
  
It was friendly, she told herself when she kissed his cheek. But should it have made him hesitate to set her down in the bed?   
    
-   
  
“So, about these lunches you’ve been making . . .” Peeta said a few days later. She was glad that he hadn’t brought up the incident yet. “If you ever need anything, you can let me know. Other than that . . . well, the woods are open for everyone now. Not just clever girls.”   
  
What he was trying to tell her was clear and she couldn’t help but to stare at him incredulously, and bite her lip to try to keep her smile from growing. He laughed, but there was nothing cruel about it.   
  
“I’m going to send a jacket with you,” he informed her, already standing up to get one.   
  
- 

His jacket was too big on her. She had the sleeves rolled up two, three times, but they still came down to cover her hands a little bit too much. She didn’t mind, though. It was better than the cold air that was coming in with autumn. _How did she miss the summer? When had that happened?_    
  
It took a while for her to get her bearings. To find the meadow so that she could sneak into the woods. Thankfully, the tree she stored her bow in was far enough away from the fence that it wasn’t burned. It only took a little bit more walking before she reached a part of the woods that looked the way that she remembered it looking.

She reveled in the feeling of having her father’s bow in her hands. But it had been so long – too long – since she had the chance to shoot it that she didn’t dare try it on game first, but instead on the trunk of a tree. She was glad that she did, because her aim was off. But once she got it right, things were just as she remembered them. She stayed out until dark, taking down everything she came across.   
  
Peeta would be proud, she decided as she ducked back into the District.  _And glad to have meat that didn’t have to be shipped in_ , she thought, a smile tugging the corners of her lips up. It was decided. She was going to stow it away in the bottom of the icebox so Sae wouldn’t use it, and she was going to cook it up for lunch the next day. If he had been impressed with the stew she made, he would certainly be happy with this.   
  
-   
  
She wasn’t wrong. He had actually been waiting in the kitchen when she got back to the house, drawing something in a notebook on the kitchen table. He looked up when the door closed behind her and smiled, like maybe he had been concerned.   
  
“Hey! You’re back!” he said. “How was your day?”   
  
She smiled and held the bag up in answer. He whistled at the noise it made when she dropped it on the table.   
  
“Well, I’m glad you had a productive day,” he smiled. “Was starting to get worried about you.”   
  
  
-   
  
She spent most of her time in the woods after that. It made her feel so much more like this was where she was supposed to be. Where she needed to be. It hadn’t been a week of her hunting and making meals before Sae informed Peeta that Katniss seemed to have it covered and stopped coming by to make meals.   
  
If Peeta was sorry for the loss, he didn’t show it. He just seemed happy, mostly. Katniss could even almost understand it. Because she felt . . . something different, too. Like she was  _lighter_ , if not exactly happier.   
  
-   
  
Peeta had suggested – in a way that made it seem like it was completely her idea – that maybe she should consider spreading her game around, the way he did with his bread. She agreed. There was enough game to go around, and even beside that, she was living with a  _Victor_. They would be set even without her hunting.   
  
There was more hunting to do, and because she was hunting more, she was preparing more game. It was easier this way. The nightmares came less at night. Probably because of how busy she kept herself during the day. How hard she was working. Fighting, maybe. Was this what it looked like to fight?   
  
  
_The Hanging Tree_ had been stuck in her head all day long. While she hunted, while she gathered, while she walked back to the Victor’s Village. But she didn’t realize she was singing it. Not until she heard something shatter behind her. She whirled around, immediately ready to defend the house with just the knife in her hand.   
  
But she didn’t see a threat. Instead, she saw Peeta standing behind her, eyes wide and the remains of what she vaguely recognizes as his favorite teacup at his feet. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to Gentlemama for beta-ing and helping me to make sure this stayed in past tense. And to Swishywillow for prereading. :)


End file.
